


Oh, Horny Night

by oneforyourfire



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 18:25:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17167040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/oneforyourfire
Summary: Junmyeon tastes peppermint candies, amaretto, tastes like Christmas, tastes like home, tastes likelove.





	Oh, Horny Night

**Author's Note:**

> the title i actually stole from twitter user @cruelbermuda and her christmas sekai  
> credit where it's due

When Chanyeol kisses Junmyeon, he tastes peppermint candies, amaretto, tastes like Christmas, tastes like home, tastes like _love_. 

When Chanyeol kisses Junmyeon, it’s meant to be brief—they’re _busy_ , Park Chanyeol. 

But it’s still too easy to lose himself in it, lose himself in _him_ , in how warm and soft and handsome and small and sturdy he is, how perfectly he fits in his arms when Chanyeol hauls him onto his lap. 

They’re supposed to be wrapping presents. Minseok’s. Kyungsoo’s. Jongin’s. Jongdae’s. Supposed to be getting ready for another Christmas party. Another Christmas contest. 

But Junmyeon, tasting like peppermint candies, like amaretto, like Christmas, like home, like love, winds his arms around Chanyeol’s neck, huffs a laugh against his lips, and Chanyeol licks his way deeper, swallows Junmyeon's soft, soft moan as he cradles his soft, soft body. 

And Chanyeol, he pushes his luck. Noses along the quiver of his jawline, down his neck, murmurs in protest against the the obstruction of his collar. And kissing, kissing, coaxing, he lowers it to get at more of Junmyeon’s heartbreakingly soft skin. Pushing, pushing, pushing, coaxing, he nuzzles into the flutter of his throat, inhaling the ghost of his cologne, the lingering hint of gingerbread, and warmth and warmth and warmth. 

Junmyeon shudders. Doesn’t laugh this time. 

Chanyeol kisses. Then bites. 

And pushing, pushing, pushing, coaxing, he stumbles over the ugly dancing snowmen stamped on Junmyeon’s Christmas sweater before tugging it off. Kissing at his chest now, twisting to mouth over his belly, too, and Junmyeon’s shudder comes heavier, breath comes heavier, too, the way he tilts his hips to rock down on Chanyeol’s lap, too

He’s sufficiently distracted. And disheveled and his eyes are dark and his lips are ruddy and he tastes and feels and smells and looks like home, tastes and feels and smells and looks like _his_. And Chanyeol wants nothing more than to have his fill and then more and more and more. 

The little bells on his reindeer headband jingle as he falls back on the carpet, again as he tugs him atop. Once more as he lolls his head in offering. His hair is dark, stark against the carpet, and Chanyeol falls forward, easy, eager, kisses deep, deep, deep, tasting peppermint candies and amaretto and Christmas and home and love and want and want and want. 

Chanyeol hitches Junmyeon’s legs over his hips, grinds forward once, twice, thrice, loves the helpless tremor of his body, the breathless tremor of his moans, the tangle of his fingers in Chanyeol’s hair. 

And he kisses over his throat again. His chest. His belly. His waist. His thighs. Tugs at every piece of offending fabric that gets in the way. His pants. His briefs. His little santa socks. Strips him bare, kisses, touches, worships more warm, perfect, achingly beautiful skin. 

“Yeollie,” he rasps, and Chanyeol feels it like an echo, like a bruise. Wants it, needs it, more, more, more. 

He glides down his body again, nuzzles into his inner thigh where he’s softest, warmest, most responsive, mouths over the thin, quivering skin, groans as Junmyeon’s bare cock grazes his cheekbone. 

Chanyeol spares a kiss—lingering, but light—loves the burst of reckless heat on his tongue, loves the way Junmyeon’s thighs tense, loves the way the muscles beneath his stomach flutter as he arches closer, closer, closer. 

He drops another. More succulent, no less fleeting. No less teasing. 

Want me. Need me. Just as much, hyung. Just as bad, hyung. 

“ _Hyung_.” 

He runs a circuit. Knee to cock. Then back around. Once. Twice. Thrice. Curls his fingers into Junmyeon’s asscheeks, squeezes, teases, grazes, taunts. Has Junmyeon’s body taut, taut, taut, tight beneath his palms. 

Want me. Need me. Just as much, hyung. Just as bad, hyung.

“Gonna get to it?” Junmyeon whispers. Like a challenge . Like a taunt. “Gonna eat me out?” 

“Say please, hyung,” he murmurs into his ass cheek. And Junmyeon’s thighs tense tighter, muscles flutter harder, breath rushes out in a helpless moan. “Ask nicely, hyung.”

“ _Yeollie_.” Rich, rough, dark, devastating. “Yeollie. Come on. Please.”

And Chanyeol moans into the seam of his thigh, licks, sucks, bites, needs, needs, needs. 

Junmyeon’s cock pulses and his back arches and his thighs tremble and his fingers tighten and his chest heaves. 

“Yeolie,” he repeats. “My Yeollie.”

There’s not even an edge of command to it. Not even a hint. Just pure, pure breathless need. Just as much. Just as bad. And fuck, just the _promise_. Just the ruined want. Just, just just—

He nuzzles into the apex of Junmyeon's quivering thighs, tastes skin and musk and heady, heady, heat. 

His is a cursory taste, slow, luxuriating, savoring the dance of tiny, tiny muscles against his mouth, the helpless way he opens up for him, the helpless way he moans. 

“Yeollie,” he repeats. “Yeollie.” 

And Chanyeol eases into it with broad, wet strokes, movements delicate, deliberate. Savoring still. 

He waits until Junmyeon is quaking to hitch his legs higher, drag him closer, waits until his body is bowing and his jaw is slackening with a _whimper_ and his hands are scrambling and clawing before licking wetter, messier, greedier. 

And Chanyeol’s body pulses, aches, aches, aches with arousal. He presses even deeper, moans around his lick, pushes, pushes, pushes, curls, whimpers at the recklessness of his response, warm and wet and wanton and wrecked, how _perfectly_ Junmyeon shudders and squeezes around him, fucking back, needing back.

His entire body rattles with a moan and twists and trembles. 

Chanyeol circles the crease of his ass, grazes, drags, teases, promises, and Junmyeon bites into his own shoulder, the prettiest, breathiest moan fluttering past his bitten lips. 

Chanyeol wants to kiss it, wants to taste it, wants him everywhere, wants his everything. He bends him smaller instead, curls deeper into grooved, puckered skin, tasting, tasting, tasting, spearing, fucking. Harder. Faster. More deliberate. More thorough. Coaxing more helpless little sounds from Junmyeon’s bitten lips. 

Chanyeol kneads into his ass all the while, rumbles deliberate moans to have Junmyeon quaking all the while. 

And fuck, Chanyeol loves it like this. Loves him like this. Loves the taste. Loves how small and firm his ass is, the way it spills around his fingers as he trembles just for him. And oh, _fuck_ , the way he clenches and tugs and urges him even deeper. 

It’s so easy to lose himself in this. Lose himself in him. 

“God, hyung,” he moans, ruined, wrecked. 

He redoubles his efforts, intent on ruining, too, wrecking him, too, reducing him to trembling limbs and hitching moans and breathless whimpers for more Yeollie, come on, Yeollie, for hyung, be good, be perfect. 

Chanyeol, he gets close. Gets him urgent, urgent, unraveling. Has him clutching, clawing, gasping, tugging at his own hair, at fistfuls of carpet. Gets him gone. Gets him needy. Gets him beautiful and _his_. 

And Chanyeol’s cock aches, throbs with every reckless beat of his racing heart, and he allows himself three, four sloppy strokes before focusing on Junmyeon again, hitching his legs higher, his spine more arched. 

Twisted up like that, he’s a portrait of wrecked desire, a gift of it. And his skin is flushed and his eyes are glassy and his hair disheveled and his lips bitten and his throat heaving and his body is trembling and his fingers scrambling, groping, stroking, sloppy, sloppy, fast, and he’s most his like this. Feels and tastes and looks it most like this. 

Greedy, desperate for even more, Chanyeol folds him even tighter, pinning him helpless and vulnerable as he fucks him deeper, deeper, deeper. 

Junmyeon’s moans crest, crest, crash, and his body thrashes then melts and Chanyeol buries himself even deeper to feel the way his body bears down tight, tight, tight on his tongue as he comes and comes and comes. 

Chanyeol follows him down into their shag carpet, kisses lazily along his ass, his hips, his thighs, the mess of come left on his belly. Kisses there the longest, loving the way that Junmyeon’s muscles jump into the touch, bunching, releasing. 

He blinks blearily up at him as Junmyeon sighs his name, rough, wrecked, but so, so fond. 

The Christmas lights glimmer on his skin, halo him pale and twinkling and angelic and beautiful and wanton and his and his and his as he pants and trembles and pants and trembles and pants and trembles through the afterglow. 

Inelegant, clumsy, beautiful, he gropes out for him, and Chanyeol stumbles forward, tucks himself immediately into the crook of his Junmyeon’s throat when Junmyeon bumbles out to touch him, cupping his palm, whispering into Chanyeol’s overheated skin. 

It’s the perfect kind of lazy, the perfect kind of teasing, perfect, perfect, perfect, the way Junmyeon winds his fingers through his hair as he strokes and strokes and strokes, murmurs into his cheekbone about how good he is, how strong, how big, how pretty, his Yeollie, how he made him come so _hard_ , Yeollie. His perfect present. His. His. His.

**Author's Note:**

> this is second attempt at chanho  
> pls tell me i did a good job  
> thanks


End file.
